


Oh, NO YOU DIDN'T!

by OriginalCeenote



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Challenge fic, Cheaters, F/M, Infidelity, Logan to the Rescue, M/M, Parody, Potty Mouths, RoLo, The Author Is An Awful Person, The Author Regrets Nothing, everyone is ooc, reality show, written stars on Yahoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ororo gets the feeling her husband has someone on the side...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, NO YOU DIDN'T!

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting this from Livejournal. I thought it was lost forever. Might have been better if it was :D

Greco, host:

“Tonight on Cheaters, we’ve got a young woman who thinks her husband of three years is committing adultery based on some odd behaviors and unexplained absences. We’ve got Cheaters cameras and our private investigators working to offer insight and peace of mind on this episode. This is her story.”

Ororo, age 25, speaking to camera:

“I’ve been in love with T’Challa since our first date. I know that’s hard for most people to believe, but there is such a thing as love at first sight. My friends said we moved too fast when we moved in together, but after a month I knew he was the one.” (sniffles)

“He knew how to treat a woman. He came from old money, and that didn’t even matter to me, I knew his mama back before we ever went out, and she always said I was the one for him once he got his act together!” (more sniffles) “I thought we were both ready to settle down. He’s my man! I’ve given him three years, and I know we can work it out, we’re meant to be together. It’s like someone wrote a love story about us and led me to him from the jump, like in Cinderella.” (full-fledged crying, wipes at running eyeliner)

“…if he’s cheating on me, I’m gonna hafta kick his lying ass.”

One week later:

“I know it’s unusual to follow up this late at night on our findings from the Cheater’s crew, Ororo, but our investigators gave us the tip that on where to find him.”

“He’s at his cousin T’Shan’s house,” she insisted stubbornly, her face calm. “That’s what he told me, so that’s where he is.”

“Does he go there often?”

“They play poker. Sometimes they go out for ribs and chicken wings at Wanda’s Chicken and Waffle House on Fifth and Madison.” Joey raises an eyebrow and proceeds to hand her the video camera, hitting play on the recorded footage. Ororo peers anxiously at the static-riddled screen.

“Right here, this was a week ago.” He pans through each frame, pointing. “We found him going out to lunch. He’s alone.” Ororo nodded easily, relief written on her face.

“I knew it. He loves a good rib,” she assured him. The time stamp displayed 12:30PM. “He took a late lunch that day, he told me that was why he’d have to work late.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied doubtfully. “He didn’t stay at the restaurant. Was this his car?” Ororo watched in some confusion as he climbed into the passenger side of a red Mustang with tinted windows.

“Uh-uh. We had the Volvo in the shop.”

“Hmmmm. You see we got him again, going about his day at the gas station. And then the bank. He had a lot of errands to run that day.” The frame panned to T’Challa strolling into a jewelry store.

“It isn’t our anniversary,” she mused, tension creeping into her voice, which had been calm up until then. She rakes a hand through her carefully styled braids and tugs them thoughtfully to give her hands something to do.

She watched her husband walking out of the store with a small blue bag. That lit a fire under her.

“There was a thousand dollar charge on our platinum card! The hell…?”

“And you said it wasn’t your anniversary?”

“Hell, naw!”

“Hmmm…all right, moving on,” he intoned breezily. “This was taken two days ago. We have him driving your Volvo with a passenger in front. They appear to be getting out at a night club…”

“NIGHT CLUB?”

“Well, it looks like a little bar of some sort…you can see a dance floor through the window,” and her nostrils flared as she watched footage of her husband, dressed to the nines, escorting a tall woman in a sinfully short skirt in through the front door. “He’s got his arm around her waist, they’re dressed for a night out…”

“Is that what you call that shit???” The mystery woman’s face wasn’t visible from the angle they shot it from, but her walk was saucy and self-assured. Ororo’s demeanor was growing more agitated as they Cheaters white van coasted up the expressway. The road was dotted with brightly lit signs as they approached the off-ramp.

“We’re coming up on the hotel where our crew spotted him.” He answered the shrill chime of his mobile phone tucked into his dark jacket.

“HOTEL?” He motioned to her to shush for a moment, holding up his index finger to silence her. She was fuming, and she looked loaded for bear.

“We have a visual confirmation at the Super Eight about two miles from here.”

“A confirmation?”

“We saw the red Mustang in the parking lot, as well as your Volvo. They appear to have met there for their encounter.”

There was a long, pregnant pause in the car before she blew up.

“Three.Fucking.Years,” she hissed out through her teeth. Her fists were balled up in her lap. “Three motherfucking years!”

“I know. I know you’re upset right now…it’s all right to feel betrayed. He disrespected you, your marriage…”

“I WASHED HIS DIRTY DRAWERS! I PICKED UP HIS DAMN DRY CLEANING! I ENTERTAINED HIS MAMA AT OUR HOUSE! I RUBBED HIS FEET, CORNS AND ALL! DID I GET A LITTLE BLUE BAG FROM THE JEWELRY STORE? I THINK THE FUCK NOT!” She emphasized each shout by banging on the arm rests of her seat, and Joey vacillated between reaching out to pat her comfortably…or to duck and back out of the way.

“I just want to know WHY,” she cried, sobbing miserably and winding down. “I just want to TALK to him and ask what he thought was wrong with us! I want to know if he still LOVES ME!” Joey sighed; that was what they all said. Just want to talk, his foot…

“You’ll have your chance to confront him and discuss it with him in a minute,” Joey promised soothingly. “We’re here!” There was a general scuffling in the back of the van as the camera crew gathered up their equipment. Joey was already outside the van, hopping out from the sliding door before it could completely roll to a stop, getting a running start. Ororo was about to book after him until a low, rumbling bass from the darkened front seat stopped her.

“He ain’t worth it, darlin’,” he murmured, peering back at her ruined appearance from the rearview. Her makeup was running, and soft, intelligent blue eyes were red-rimmed and luminous with tears. She looked vulnerable, like someone had just snuffed her fire.

“I thought he was. Fool me once, damn you…that’s what they say, isn’t it? But THREE YEARS? What the hell do you say about that?”

“That he’s a flamin’ idiot.” He turned off the ignition but left the headlights on to illuminate the parking lot for better lighting when they did the “big reveal.”

“Hold on a sec, darlin’,” he continued, and he hopped out, kicked the door shut, and assisted her from the back. His hand felt large, strong and warm, engulfing hers in his calloused grip. They were working hands. She dashed tears from her eyes and peered at him, lips quivering.

“Thanks. Guess I’d better get this over with.”

“Go get him,” he cheered, but his face was grim and concerned. And it was a nice face, she noticed. Firm bone structure and piercing dark eyes were framed by a bellicose haircut that strangely suited him. Joey approached her, dragging her away. She sprinted to keep up with him, stomach up in her throat.

“I’ll show him an encounter, she muttered, squinting at the light shining in her face and nearly tripping over the boom operator. A long microphone was thrust into her face as Joey knocked sharply on the door of room seven.

“T’Challa?” Joey called out. “We’d like to talk with you out in the parking lot for a minute!”

“I’m busy!” he snapped. “Who the hell is this?” There was a scuffling and a rustle of bed sheets behind the door. It sounded like someone was tripping into their clothes.

“It’s your WIFE, T’Challa, unless you forgot you had one!” Her greeting was met by muted “aw, SHIT, it’s on now” behind the door and more stumbling.

“Someone get the key from the manager,” Joey advised, sending one of the crew toward the tiny office. The other workers in the lot were grinning, waiting for the bomb to drop.

“Come out, T’Challa!” Ororo yelled, banging her fist on the door. Several faces peered around the corner from the ice machines and over the tiny balcony’s rails to see what was going down.

“Baby, I was just on my way home! I called you on your cell…”

“BULLSHIT! There weren’t any calls from you, and you WEREN’T on your way home! That’s our car parked right over there. This doesn’t look like home to me! Otherwise, your ass would be on my couch, watching ES-fucking-PN!”

“We’ve got a key,” Joey announced. He jiggled it in the lock, and the crew muscled their way inside. Ororo wasn’t crying anymore. She practically crackled with energy, looking like the Angel of Death.

“This isn’t you working late,” she snapped, and her finger flew up in the air, pointing at him like a dagger. “Up here in this NASTY-ass room, with some little hoochy…” her voice died. Joey picked up where he left off.

“Excuse me…ma’am, did you know that T’Challa was married to Ororo? I’m Joey Greco from Cheaters…”

“It doesn’t matter if HE knew T’Challa was married or not! T’CHALLA sure as hell knew!” Mouths were hanging open behind Ororo as the crew zoomed in on the person occupying the bed, tied to the bed with pink furry handcuffs.

“What the hell do you mean, YOUR WIFE???” Anger twisted the features of a tall, brown-skinned man wearing expensive-looking red lingerie, namely fishnets attached by a garter belt and a bra and thong set trimmed in marabou feathers. He was made up like a supermodel and wearing a long black wig styled in a pageboy. “You told me you were divorced, and you weren’t in a relationship. Oh, my God!” he moaned.

“Not in a relationship…you must be out of your damned mind!” WHACK! Her slender hand flew up and smacked him upside the head. “A thousand damned dollars at the jewelry store on MY credit card!” WHACK! WHACK! He ducked and shuffled behind the nearby armchair in the corner, trying to shield his privates. He was garbed in a snug black thong and wearing a black leather, studded collar and matching hip boots. A long leather riding crop was lying on the table. She picked it up and waved it at him in disgust. “I’m SO telling your mama about this!”

“You can’t tell my mother about this, Ororo, let me explain…”

“EXPLAIN!” SWISH! WHACK! She went after him with the crop, and it landed wherever he had bare flesh. The camera crew still filmed it, not wanting to miss a word.

“It would be helpful if we could discuss this calmly,” Joey reminded them, but his voice was nearly drowned out by the floods of profanity.

“That’s my crop, bitch, take your hands off of it!” cried T’Challa’s date.

“Forge, stay out of this! OW!” WHACK!

“Three years – WHACK! I gave – WHACK! – your ass!”

“THREE YEARS??” Forge struggled in the cuffs. “Oh, unlock me NOW!” His face was indignant, and he looked thoroughly humiliated. The driver from the van showed up again, scowling at the scene that met his eyes, and she fumbled in the desk drawer for the key to the cuffs.

“You said Forge was a friend of yours from work!”

“He is…she is…baby, please…”

“You said I was special,” Forge cried, livid as he jerked his wrists from the cuffs and rose from the bed. Joey knew he’d have to have the censors edit the footage mercilessly. Forge’s thong was crotchless…

“Go move in with your mama,” Ororo snapped, throwing the riding crop at him. “We’re so through.”

“You gave me that perfume last week,” Forge insisted, not finished with him. Ororo shoved T’Challa roughly, and he once again tried to evade her, this time heading toward the hotel room door.

“You’re crazy, woman! This is why I can’t talk to you anymore!”

“It was hers, wasn’t it, you sonofabitch!” Forge bellowed after him, snatching off the wig and stuffing it into a nearby duffel bag. “I won’t be your bitch! You’re such a lapdog!”

“Forge…shit! WAIT!” He stomped out the door in a pair of cruel-looking stilettos, wrapped in a long leather coat.

“So will you still continue your relationship with Ororo’s husband?” Joey yelled after him, sprinting into the parking lot.

“GO TO HELL!”

T’Challa was trying to wave him back from the lot, heedless of his clothing. He turned to Ororo.

“Now see what you did!”

“WHAT I DID?” she shrieked, balling up her fists and lunging for him.

“Now let’s all calm down,” Joey suggested, raising his voice when they shouts nearly drowned him out. No sooner had the words left his mouth when Ororo jumped on his back and had him in a headlock.

“Not with my platinum card, bitch!” They were raising a ruckus. Two members of the crew tried to break them apart, but the van’s driver finally came up and hauled Ororo off of him, his brawny arms wrapped firmly around her waist.

“You hurt me!” she accused, her voice cracked and hoarse. “I bet you paid for this room with my card, too!”

“We’ll talk about this when I get home,” he promised. “You know I love you! Why’d you even come here???”

“You can stay here tonight!” They volleyed a string of profanities across the parking lot before she was bundled back into the van.

“I’m gonna sue you fuckers!” T’Challa warned.

“You shouldn’t have committed adultery. It hurts a relationship and everyone involved,” Joey chided him. His tone and voice were placid.

“FUCK YOU!” He tsked; the editing crew would have to shade out him flipping the bird, too.

“I don’t even want to go home,” she moaned, before blowing up again. “I’m calling his mama as soon as I get back.” She met the eyes of the driver again in the rearview.

“Who said ya had ta go home, darlin’?” Joey was aghast.

“It’s a breach of contract to talk like that to the guests on the show,” he reminded him.

“Show’s over.” He met eyes with her again. “How ‘bout it?”

 

One week later:

“Cheaters likes to recap and follow up with its participants to see if resolution was reached following their confrontations with their partners about their infidelity…”

Ororo, holding hands with a dark-haired man:

“I was upset when my husband turned out to be cheating on me. I wish him well, even though he doesn’t deserve it. His girlfriend can have him, or whatever… that was a side of him that I never saw while we were married, and that I hope I never see again. I’ve moved on with my life. He can find someone else to rub his feet and put up with his shit.” The editing crew’s job was relatively easy for her portion of the clip.

T’Challa:

“My wife overreacted, and I don’t feel it was necessary for her to call me out in front of millions of people. I thought it was wrong, and that she wasn’t very mature the way she dealt with it. She should have talked to me first, but oh well. I’ll find someone else who appreciates and cares about my needs. I’ll make some lucky person very happy…I’ve even been communicating with my boo, even though you people stuck your nose up in my business. One of these days, someone’s gonna get live and fuck you people up. You’ll mess around in the wrong person’s shit. Just like my mama says, chickens come back to roost!”


End file.
